The Sounds of Poplar
by miserable lie
Summary: A series of one shots featuring our favourite Poplar residents.
1. Sugartime

Sugartime

 _(Set during series five)_

It was late at night and Patsy, who had just come back from a rather trying delivery, was stirred from her state of semi-sleep by a loud crash from outside her room. She hurried out to investigate and was astonished to find Delia there, sprawled on the ground, surrounded by various cups and plates and swearing rather loudly.

"Well, what's happened here?" asked Patsy, stifling a snigger and helping Delia to her feet.

"Don't you dare laugh at me Patience Mount, here I was trying to do something nice for you and I've gone and tripped on this blasted rug!"

"But Delia, why on earth where you trying to carry all this up from the kitchen by yourself? That's just asking for trouble!"

In response, Delia drew herself up to her full height, which admittedly was not very tall at all, especially not compared to Patsy, "I wanted to surprise you"

Patsy looked from Delia to the mess on the floor and back again then and, before she could stop herself, burst into peals of laughter. At first, Delia looked cross but soon she was laughing too and the two nurses bundled themselves into Patsy's room for fear of waking up half of Nonnatus.

Once they had composed themselves, they ventured back out onto the landing to tidy up the mess and salvage what they could from Delia's little tea party. By some miracle, the majority of the china had remained intact, with the exception of the a little cup which was now missing the handle but which, Patsy was quick to reassure Delia once she saw how crestfallen she was looking, was sure to not be missed for it was so chipped to begin with.

"Looks like it's your lucky day, Deels," giggled Patsy, "it just so happens my speciality is getting tea stains out of rugs"

They carried what remained back into Patsy's room and sat down on her bed facing each other, Delia handed a cake to Patsy, waiting to see the look on her face.

"Did you make these yourself, Deels? How lovely!" Patsy smiled apprehensively.

"Don't be so patronising, Pats!" Delia groaned, hitting at Patsy with a pillow, "Yes I did, as it happens, but I followed the recipe precisely so there really can't be anything wrong with them"

Patsy shrugged her shoulder, bit into one and promptly groaned, "Delia, I don't mean to question your baking abilities, but I think you may have forgotten to add sugar!"


	2. Tossin' and Turnin'

Tossin' and Turnin'

 _(Set between series four and series five)_

Trixie had never slept particularly well. When she was a child, she had lain awake, listening to her mother try to comfort her father in the next room and even now, if she concentrated hard enough, she could almost hear his faint cries reverberating off the walls. She glanced at her bedside table. Half past four in the morning. That meant that she'd been lying there for five hours, smothered by her own worry. Out the corner of her eye she caught sight of the nearly empty glass of whiskey that Patsy had left on her bedside table before going to sleep. Trixie's fingers twitched and she brought her fingers to her mouth and bit down on them. Hard. Hard enough to draw blood but surely even the metallic taste of her own blood was better than the sweet burn of alcohol in the back of her throat? She wasn't so sure anymore.

She rose from her bed, feeling as though she had no control over her own feet and her hand reached out, fingers clasping around the cool glass which held the remnants of Patsy's nightcap. She drew the glass up to her lips, close enough that she could taste the fumes of alcohol. She was shaking now, tears pouring down her cheeks. A sob caught in her throat and she strode from the room to the bathroom. Once there, she poured the glass into the sink, heart pounding as she watched the dregs of amber liquid trickle down the plughole.

Glancing up, she caught sight of herself in the mirror. Gaunt face, haunted eyes surrounded by bruise like rings. A whimper escaped her lips. How had her life come to this? How had she allowed it all to go this far? Her knees gave way underneath her and she sank to the floor.

Sobriety.

She even thought the word itself was ugly. Clumsy. Tripping her up as she tried to get her tongue around its consonants and vowels. Tripping her up as she thought of yet another excuse for why she wouldn't be having a drink that night. Tripping her up as she tried to get through her day without the thought of a drink at the end of it. She missed drink in a way that she had never really missed anything before. In fact, she'd go as far as to say that she missed the drink considerably more than she missed Tom. The drink had welcomed her back into her room after a hard day of work, it had sat with her in her room as she sank into a state of misery and, after all else was done, it had put her to bed at night. It had offered her the companionship she had always longed for. There was no comfort at the bottom of a mug of Horlicks, just milky dregs and the overwhelming sense that nothing would ever make her feel whole again.


	3. Come Fly With Me

Come Fly With Me

 _(Set between series five and series six)_

Sister Mary Cynthia lay in bed, shivering. The boiler had broken again and her room was particularly chilly but she didn't like to say anything to the nuns for fear of seeming petulant. She knew they would want her to be comfortable and warm and yet she cringed at the thought of raising any sort of complaint when so many of the people she served were in far worse situations.

The cold wasn't the only thing that was bothering her though. No, she also found herself going over and over the attack in her head. It was as if every detail had been etched upon her brain with a scalding hot needle. She had tried saying her prayers, reciting passages from the Bible and even, when she had grown desperate, the lyrics to those songs she had used to listen to tucked up into Trixie's bed with her friend's head resting on her shoulder and Jenny's legs wedged rather uncomfortably between their own. She could still smell the cigarette smoke on Trixie's breath as if it were yesterday, feel her blonde curls inside her ear, taste the bourbon she had been plied with. Her life had seemed simpler then. Her work had been hard of course, but she had understood what was expected of her, had understood her place at Nonnatus. She had begun to cry now, almost without realising, she tried to slow her breathing, tried to stop making so much noise, but it was no use. All those weeks, months even, of pent up emotion were spilling out and this time they were not going away.

She heard her door open and she stiffened as she heard a voice whisper her name softly into the dark room. Yet this was not the voice that she had been expecting, this was not Sister Julienne, no, this was Trixie's voice. She jolted up in bed, tried to speak but couldn't bring herself to. Instead she just reached out her hand, imploring the other woman silently. Trixie seemed to understand at once and closed the door, then made her way over to the bed. She climbed in next to Cynthia, neither of them considering, or indeed caring, that this was probably not strictly allowed. Trixie pulled the other woman closer to her chest, making soft shushing noises and Cynthia closed her eyes and forced herself to steady her breathing. She breathed in the smell of Trixie. Her perfume, she noted, was a new one, perhaps a little muskier than her previous scent but the lingering waft of cigarette smoke remained. What she really noticed was the lack of the sweet, cloying tang of alcohol. She felt where her tears had left a damp mark on Trixie's uniform but she wasn't ready to bring her face up yet, to have to meet Trixie's eyes, to have to form words. For now, just for a little while, she wanted to feel safe.


End file.
